She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. ’ ‘Lucky indeed,’ answered Gerald, glancing at the pair again. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. "We've heard coming and going.
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